


At peace at last

by RussianWitch



Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A returning to Sleepy Hollow</p>
            </blockquote>





	At peace at last

Katrina didn’t want to visit her ancestral home.

Ichabod had little choice but to take the coach to Sleepy Hollow alone when her solicitor send a letter that someone had to come make a decision about the properties left behind.

The coachman apologized, yet still left Ichabod at the top of the road leading to the village instead of bringing him all the way. Fortunately, the day was almost warm and the air was clear, the young man decided that a walk would do him good as the village was in sight. Walking through the woods brought back memories of the year before. He couldn’t blame the coachman for not taking the path, remembering another ride along it with the headless horseman attacking them relentlessly. A vivid memory of lying under the mercenary’s headless body stopping him in his tracks for several minutes before he could force himself to move again.

Forcing the memories away, he looked up expecting the village to be right before him only to see the forest closing in. The road had narrowed down while hi had been lost in his memories becoming an all too familiar trail. Ichabod turned intent to head back to discover that the trail got lost in the undergrowth. The thought of the forest herding him send cold shivers down the constable’s spine. Clutching his bag tighter Ichabod set out to follow the trail to the Tree of the Dead.

By the time he entered the clearing the constable was shaking, holding his bag before him like a shield. Ichabod half expected the horseman to be waiting for him. Instead, there was only the tree: its branches moving in a non-existent wind. The tree draws him as if by magic, and Ichabod dropped his bag stepping further into the clearing. The tree got more restless as he comes closer its roots loosening themselves from the barren earth to reach for the young man. He wants to scramble back but the roots are too fast wrapping around his ankles and dragging the constable off of his feet.

He twists and struggles, digging his fingers into the earth in an idle attempt to stop the roots’ progress. The ground is too hard to be of much use, the only thing Ichabod manages to accomplish is ripping his palms open on the pebbles, his blood leaving a trail behind him. He screams his distress to the uncaring forest knowing that this time there is no one who might help him or find his corps. The tree is right above him, more roots rising from the earth around him as Ichabod fights to stay conscious.

The roots close in and he loses the fight the darkness closing in on his mind.

When he comes to, Ichabod realizes that the roots have released him. He keeps his eyes closed wondering what will happen when he finally opens them. The forest is silent around him, but that is not strange in the clearing containing the devil’s tree. But there are sounds, the sounds of a hoof scraping the earth, the sound of a cape shifting as someone moved around. He feels a presence right next to his body and stiffens unconsciously pressing his fingers into the ground. Pain shooting through his hands, Ichabod sits up with a sob his eyes opening to look into the stormy eyes of the ghost kneeling beside him.

The ghost grins baring his fangs, but somehow Ichabod decided the mercenary looks pleased. He raises his arm expecting to see the axe or the sword to be the next thing he will see coming his way. Instead, the ghost’s gloved hand closes around the constable’s wrist pulling Ichabod’s hand towards the grinning mouth. The young man struggles already seeing stumps where his fingers had been. Another scream leaves his throat when the ghost’s lower lip brushes his skin as he closes his eyes bracing himself for pain. He feels something hot and wet sliding across his palm. The ghost’s tongue is too red against the paleness of his face. Ichabod wonders why he has not fainted again.

He stares at the mercenary lapping at his blood like a hungry cat at a bowl of cream. At first, there is only pain; the tongue digs into the wounds, but the pain goes and when his hand is released he sees that the wounds have closed and even the scars from his youth have disappeared. The ghost reaches for his other hand repeating the treatment. Ichabod can’t bring himself to look away from the mercenary wondering why science has forsaken him so completely.

When both his hands are healed the ghost leans closer.

The constable tries to pull back, falling down and trying to twist his face away. A gloved hand clamps down on his jaw forcing Ichabod to face the creature. He watches the fanged mouth closing in, and remembering lady Van Tassel’s fate closes his eyes again. He doesn’t feel fangs but lips tracing his cheekbone before taking his mouth. The kiss is savage, masterful, nothing Ichabod has experienced in his life. He has never expected to experience anything like it his father’s hateful words ringing in his ears from all the times he has heard the old bastard’s drunken ranting after his mother’s death. Sodomy is a sin he has never expected to experience. The ghost straddles him: the all too substantial body pressing him into the earth. Ichabod wants to struggle, to push the specter away and run. Yet he doubts that the ghost will move and he has already seen that the forest is against him. Still, he tries to pull his arms free from the iron grip they are caught in. His mouth is released when the ghost laughs at his struggles before leaning down again to nip at Ichabod’s lower lip. The constable tastes his own blood whimpering as the mercenary laps at the cut. The ghost’s free hand roams Ichabod’s chest pushing aside layers of clothing. As his lips are released the young man is shocked to feel the leather glove exploring his chest.

The ghost sits up still holding Ichabod’s wrists fast looking down at the young man. “The tree knows you, Kleine. It demands a sacrifice.”

At first, the constable doesn’t even realize that the ghost is speaking. It sounds like gravel, the storm in winter and the howling of the wolf. The words are almost hesitant like the mercenary needs to thing about every one of them. Ichabod remembers that the ghost was part of the Hessian troops and English isn’t his native language. He tries to remember more refusing to think about the actual words. From the corner of his eye, he sees the roots of the tree trying to move closer again. The ghost turns and growls at the roots and they move away slightly.

“It wants you, pretty boy. The tree has tasted you, and it likes your taste.”

“Wwwhy? Why me?” Ichabod stammers, shocked. The ghost leans down burying his nose in the crook of Ichabod’s neck almost purring as he inhales.

“You smell of magic, and of purity. Your blood is sweet.” Another stinging nip this time on his throat and the mercenary laps at his blood again.

“I don’t want to die,” he knows that he sounds weak. But he has never been a courageous man, and Ichabod does want to live. To his surprise, the ghost looks almost tender, the same look the mercenary gave his horse after regaining his head.

“The tree wants life. It does not have to take blood but it will take it. Unless it is given something else—,” as if hearing the mercenary’s words the roots move again, slithering closer. Ichabod tries to pull away from them but the ghost is still immovable above him.

“Wwhat does it want, if not blood?” The ghost grins his free hand caressing Ichabod’s chest again. Slowly the realization sinks in of what the horseman is talking about. His father’s words ring in the constable’s ears. Before he finishes the thought his head is already shaking in denial, he buckles trying to dislodge the mercenary all his thought focused on getting away.

“No!”

“You have no choice, Kleine,” the Horseman almost sounds sorry yet he slides down giving himself room to strip the young man further.

“Please no—,” the ghost only shakes his head pulling Ichabod’s cravat from under the young man and using it to bind the constable’s hands. From the corner of his eye, he sees two roots approach like snakes in the grass. This time the ghost only hisses but allows the roots to wrap around the young man’s bound wrists.

“I will not harm you, pretty boy.” Ichabod only whimpers in response. The ghost leans down taking the young man’s mouth and the constable finds himself unable to refuse the invasion. Something is thrown on the ground beside them, when his mouth is released Ichabod looks and sees the mercenary’s gloves. The touch of skin on skin takes the young man’s breath away. The ghost’s mouth returns this time attacking the young man’s throat nipping and licking at the pale, trembling flesh.

The ghost licks a path down to one of the constable’s nipples to tease the hard nub. The fangs close around the sensitive flesh scraping against it. Ichabod whimpers the horseman hasn’t yet hurt him but there is no guarantee that he will not be hurt. His skin is nicked again. This time the ghost doesn’t lick up the blood but lets it flow free moving on down to the young man’s belly.

“Pretty boy—,” another nip and the ghost moves further to Ichabod’s terror. There is no nip as the ghost nuzzles the young man’s member. He doesn’t understand what the mercenary is doing and why it is sending ripples of pleasure through his body. It is wrong and he can’t stop it happening.

“No, please—,” the ghost doesn’t listen. He growls instead, pulling Ichabod up and twisting the young man so that he’s on his knees. The roots follow wrapping tighter around the constable’s wrists, more roots move closer and at a hiss from the ghost wrap around Ichabod’s arms as well.

The tree pulls the young man closer despite his struggles. His terror becomes complete when the ghost releases him for the moment. Ichabod is pulled against the tree its rough bark abrading his belly and chest. He tries to keep his most tender parts away from it and only bare manages.

“I will not harm you,” the ghost wraps around him from behind, and Ichabod can only gasp from shock as skin touches skin. He wonders how the ghost managed to take his armor off so fast. The ghost’s hard flesh burns against his lower back a touch Ichabod has never expected to experience.

Powerless Ichabod hangs in his restraints as the ghost’s mouth explores his skin further. This time the bites are harder, hard enough to break the skin and for blood to drip down Ichabod's back. By the time the ghost reaches his ass the constable is shaking and for once hoping to pass out.

“Pretty boy—,” the ghost’s slide down to Ichabod’s ass squeezing the globes before spreading them apart. The touch of the ghost’s tongue on that part of him makes the constable scream. Even bound he tries to get away from the slick probing touch worming its way inside his body. His chest is scratched open by the rough bark, his blood is soaked up by the thirsty tree. The ghost only laughs against his flesh intensifying his ministration. The constable felt his body being opened by the mercenary’s ministrations strange sensations raging through his body and mind. He can feel the ghost’s hair tickling against his skin, can feel bruises forming on his hips and ass from the mercenary’s fingers holding him tight.

Ichabod can not think with all the sensations raging through his body. His father’s words mixing with the ghost’s whispered compliments confusing his mind. He hasn’t even experienced the touch of a woman and wonders how that would feel. Despite the ghost’s words he doesn’t expect to live through the violation. The invasive tongue disappears only to be replaced with something thicker and harder. Ichabod bits his lips bracing for the invasion. The ghost wraps around him almost purring his pleasure licking at the back of Ichabod’s neck. The mercenary’s hands find the young man’s member, the ghost chuckles in pleasure and Ichabod closes his eyes in humiliation and shame because his flesh is hard.

“Do not fight me, Kleine. You will like it,” the words don’t help. The young man feels tears rolling down his cheeks as the ghost pushes inside. There is no physical pain, but there is discomfort that makes Ichabod sob. The mercenary doesn’t hurry, thrusting slowly in and out. The discomfort slowly disappears between the stroking inside and out making thinking impossible for Ichabod. Time slows down and all the young man can feel is the ghost wrapping around him. Before he knows it he is impaled completely trapped between the tree and the mercenary. For a moment the ghost is as still as the forest around them and Ichabod can only hear his own breathing and the blood rushing through his body.

The mercenary slowly pulls out only to thrust roughly back in ripping a scream from the young man. Ichabod digs his fingers into the bark unwilling bracing against the assault. His member is still hard and leaking despite that fact that he is repeating to himself that he doesn’t want the ghost’s ministrations. The ghost rides him hard taking the constable’s breath away with the pleasure he sends racing through the young man’s body. Soon he can’t think anymore but only feel the sensations assaulting him. The mercenary growls his pleasure above him sinking his fangs into Ichabod’s shoulder. The pain from the bite sends the constable over the edge the sensations becoming too much. He opens his eyes to see his own essence spilling on the base of the tree and watches it disappear into the earth and the bark. The ghost’s grip on his tightens and he roars his release as well. The young man can feel the ghost’s essence spilling inside him before the darkness finally takes him.

He awakes in a place of twilight and silence.

As soon as awareness returns he can feel that he is naked covered by fur and leather. Memories assault him, but there are no signs on his body of what he endured. For a moment he hopes that it was a nightmare and not reality. Yet as soon as he sits up the constable sees the ghost sitting in the shadows watching him. Ichabod scrambles back the memory of the mercenary’s touch raises gooseflesh on his skin.

“The tree is satisfied, Kleine.”

“Why did you do—,” he can not even name the act. Yet the ghost seems to understand standing up and stepping closer.

“If I had left you to the tree, you would have died,” the ghost explains.

“What did you care?”Ichabod wants to know.

The mercenary frowns, “you gave me back my head, setting me free.”

Ichabod hears the words but doesn’t understand them. The ghost acts like he has saved the young man from death yet the act has destroyed Ichabod’s piece of mind. He wonders what he will have to do to wipe this sin off this soul, “there is no stain on your soul, Kleine. This place is other: it does not fall under the dominion of your father’s god.”

Ichabod clutches tighter at the fur he is holding, “how do you know my father?” He demands.

The ghost grins baring his fangs. “I know you, Ichabod Crain. The forest knows you, it wants you here. As do I.”

The words make him tremble, “why me? I do not believe.”

“But you have seen, and you have faced all of the forest’s might, and I have been alone too long. I want a companion.” The ghost steps even closer, “my death has bound me to this place, to be the guardian of these woods. With the vanquishing of the black witch, I have been granted a reward: you.”

“No!” Ichabod tries to move away, but there is a wall behind him, that hadn’t been there moments before. The ghost presses him against it molding their bodies together, their faces but inches apart.

The young man looks into the mercenary’s eyes and they are not the cold eyes of a predator any longer. He can see loneliness in them and love something he has not seen in anyone’s eyes directed at himself since his mother was killed.

The last whispers of his father’s voice die in his mind. He turns his face up hesitantly offering his lips for a kiss. His mouth is taken, claimed and devoured but this time he allows himself to get lost in the pleasure. His hands are free, he drops the fur he has been clutching and digs his fingers into the ghost’s wild mane pulling the creature closer letting the demonic heat warm his cold body. Before he knows it they are on the bed of furs again the ghost inside and above him.  
The memories of the year before are scourged away by the mercenary’s touch and Ichabod is finally at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what came over me... and I'm sticking to that explanation.  
> Having been reminded of this story, did some minor editing.


End file.
